


Do Your Nefarious Worst

by bomberqueen17



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Consent is Sexy, Deaf Clint Barton, Enthusiastic Consent, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, FaceFucking, I pick and choose what I like, Landlord Clint, MCU/616 Mishmosh, Multi, OT3, Past Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Protective Natasha, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, at what point does it become an orgy, bros, implied ot4 - Freeform, rooftop grilling, tracksuit mafia - Freeform, unabashed smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bomberqueen17/pseuds/bomberqueen17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is continued from a story I wrote in response to <a href="http://bomberqueen17.tumblr.com/post/91941704229/trickstersherlock-bucky-finding-out-how-prone">someone theorizing</a> that Clint and Bucky would make good bros, particularly that Clint's human-disasterness would trigger Bucky's protective instinct.<br/>They do, but also, Natasha enjoys both of their company, and that leads to really good entertainment. And unabashed smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shoot 'Em Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was composed in fits and starts for over a year, and fits in none of my continuities exactly, but conversely can go wherever you like, or stand alone. It makes no judgments. Do what you like.  
> Really this is as close as I come to a short standalone.  
> Note: As it took me so long to write, the salient bits were written mid-continuity (#8ish?) in Matt Fraction's Hawkeye run, and so I guess various events of that never took place. No Barney, and Grills continues to grill happily on the roof, and I ain't touching Ales Kot's Winter Soldier run with a ten-foot pole, cute as the Reznor is. I'm mostly an MCU fan, I just think MCU Hawkeye is an empty shell so I wanted to fill that up with a little apartment building in Bed-Stuy and a whole bunch of relationship fuckups.  
> It's awesome that fandom is collectively the kinds of nerds that don't care how many issues you've really read or how long you've been a fan. :) You don't have to have read a lick of the comics to follow along here either.

Clint came to tied to a chair. This was bad. This was not surprising, but it did not take away from the fact that it was bad. “God damn it,” he said. 

“You have made big mistake, bro,” a voice said from behind him. It was dark. And stuffy. Oh. Hood. Over his head. Great. Hey, at least his hearing aids were still in, nobody’d fucked with those.

“You guys keep sayin’ that,” Clint said. “And yet.”

“We will not be so nice this time, bro,” the voice said. “You piss too many of us off now, bro. We don’t let this go this time, bro.”

“All this talking,” Clint said, and with that someone broke his arm. “Motherfuck!” he yelled, and it wasn’t the first time he’d bodily wrestled his way out of a chair he was tied to, but it also wasn’t his most successful attempt. 

Suddenly someone screamed, and there was a whuffling noise like— not quite like an arrow, and someone else screamed. And then there was breaking glass, and nobody was grabbing Clint anymore so he thrashed his way out of the chair amid screaming and chaos and the building’s fire alarm and sprinkler system went off and there was water everywhere, and a lot of people were shouting and screaming in Russian or Ukranian or whatever.

As Clint managed to get his hands free, cradling the broken arm against his chest, he thought he recognized one of the voices, hoarse and angry, shouting repetitively in Russian. He dragged the hood off and blinked into the dim room and—

“Aw fuck,” he said, “Bucky?”

Bucky was standing in the middle of the room looking like some kind of goddamn avenging demon, hair flying wildly, soaked wet by the fire sprinklers, metal arm exposed, strange bulky guns in both hands— dart guns— he was shooting these motherfuckers down with dart guns, God knew what was in those darts. There were bodies everywhere. 

And he was screaming in Russian, something over and over, and the few people he hadn’t shot were cowering under tables and chairs. The one nearest Clint was openly weeping in terror. 

“Jesus Christ,” Clint said, standing up shakily. 

Bucky turned slowly to him, jaw thrust forward aggressively, chin tipped up, head tilted to one side. “You,” he said, switching to English with apparent difficulty. He looked completely deranged, Clint thought, and had no idea what to do. 

“Bucky,” he said.

“Are you injured?” Bucky asked, though it was more a demand than a question. 

“N,” Clint said. “No— yes. Not really.”

Bucky glared at him. “Get your ass over here,” he growled. Then he lowered his head and swung it around to the ringleader of the whole thing, who he had apparently not shot. The man was sitting on the floor with his arms over his head. “You,” he said. “If he is injured I will come for you.”

“Aw,” Clint said, “it ain’t that—“

Bucky glanced slowly back toward him, and Clint shut his face. 

He turned back to the man, stalked forward, crouched down in front of him, and spoke to him softly in Russian, in almost gentle tones. The man made a couple of frightened whimpering noises at the pauses in Bucky’s speech. Bucky stayed there, silent, for a long moment, then got up and turned back toward Clint. 

“I do not fuck around,” he said, looking around the room one last time. “I did not spend seventy years in the KGB to fuck around. The poison in those darts will paralyze for six hours. Next time I will not be so merciful.”

He jerked his head at Clint and stalked out of the room. Clint breathed out slowly, and followed him. 

They squelched as they walked, once they were out on the street. Clint’s left hearing aid started making intermittent staticky noises and he shook his head and grimaced, trying to get water out of that ear. The aids were nominally waterproof but in practice, tended not to handle being actively wet. 

Bucky still wasn’t saying anything. He’d put the guns back into their thigh holsters, but he still looked like a crazy person. “Um,” Clint said. 

“If you tell me you had ‘em on the ropes I will probably punch you,” Bucky growled. 

“Cool,” Clint said, “that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“Good,” Bucky said. Clint realized after a moment that Bucky was leading them back toward Clint’s building. That was— oh, that was okay. That was fine. He could just put some ice on his arm, it probably wasn’t that bad. 

“Um, do I want to know what you said to them?” Clint asked. 

“No,” Bucky said. “You don’t.”

Clint nodded to himself. He was goddamn freezing. Fortunately they hadn’t left his neighborhood, so it wasn’t much farther to walk. “I, um,” he said. “I— you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, not looking at him— he had not looked at him one time since he’d gestured at Clint to follow him out— “I did.”

“I mean—“ Clint said, and Bucky was walking so damn fast he had to jog every couple of steps even though it wasn’t like the guy’s legs were much longer— “I mean thanks, man, I really, I was in trouble. But I mean— I’m always in trouble, you didn’t have to make it your business.”

“I did, though,” Bucky said. 

“You really didn’t,” Clint said. “I mean— Bucky, nobody else ever has.”

At that, Bucky paused, and turned to look at him. His face was completely blank, expressionless. “No?”

“No,” Clint said, and it felt really vulnerable to say that, weirdly so. He rubbed the back of his neck with the hand he could move. “I, um. No.”

Bucky stared at him, then turned and kept walking, though a little less rapidly. “It could backfire,” he said thoughtfully. “I mean, I put the fear in _that_ guy pretty good, but if there’s somebody real young and hungry in that organization who wasn’t there and thinks the ones who were are a bunch of crazies, he might come after you just to make a name for himself.” He glanced over at Clint. “Especially if it’s someone who’s too young to know about the KGB. I mentioned some… things.” He shook his head. “It won’t mean anything to the younger ones. They don’t know.”

“Well,” Clint said. “I mean. Even if they do. So they come after me. They kind of, they already did. So that’s, you know. Better.”

Bucky tilted his head, sort of a sideways nod. “Still,” he said. “Probably better watch your step a little. If some dumb punk is gonna make something of it it’ll probably be soon.”

“Yessir,” Clint said, giving him an ironic salute. He hissed absently as he tried to use the bad arm to get his key out of his pocket, and had to twist awkwardly to get his good hand in there instead. He produced the key with a little noise of triumph, and let them in the building. 

“You said you weren’t hurt,” Bucky said. 

“Eh,” Clint said. He wasn’t going to poke it. Bucky hung back. “You comin’ in?” he asked. “At least for a beer?”

Bucky hesitated. In the shadows of the entryway he looked truly terrifying, a pale face with dark holes of eyes framed by wet stringy hair, a black-clad nightmare with metal glinting out of the shadows. “Beer,” he said, as if he wasn’t sure what it was, which was bullshit, Clint knew he drank beer all the time.

Clint sniffed the air. “Grillin’ on the roof,” he said. “We do it potluck.”

Bucky stared blankly. “None of those words made sense,” he said. 

“Just come in,” Clint said, jerking his head, and Bucky took a step forward. Clint figured that was enough of an answer, and thumped up the stairs. His arm might not be broken but it hurt like fuck. 

He opened his apartment door and Bucky peered through it hesitantly, like he expected an ambush. Clint went in and was greeted enthusiastically by Lucky. He’d been gone long enough that the water dish was empty, and he grimaced in apology as he grabbed it to fill it. 

“Hey Lucky,” he said, “this is Bucky, you guys rhyme.”

Bucky was staring at Lucky like he’d maybe never seen a yellow lab mix before. Maybe he hadn’t. “Did they not have dogs in the 40s?” Clint asked. “He don’t bite much, he’s pretty cool.”

“Dogs usually don’t like me,” Bucky said, but crouched down and offered his human hand. Lucky sniffed at it, then licked it and came closer, tail wagging. 

“Lucky’s smart,” Clint said. He went to the freezer, got a well-abused bag of frozen corn, smacked it against the counter to loosen the pieces, and wrapped it around his bad arm, then went into the fridge and got two beers.

Lucky had decided Bucky was cool and was snurfling at his face. Bucky laughed, which was not a real common thing from him, and tousled the dog’s ears. “I guess dogs usually don’t like me because I’m usually breaking into their houses to murder their people,” Bucky said, and stood up. “That’d probably do it.”

Clint wrenched the tops off the beers and handed one to Bucky. “You’re kind of a disconcerting guy, you know that?”

“I noticed, yeah,” Bucky said. He accepted the beer. “Thanks.”

“It’s cool,” Clint said. “You disconcerted the fuck out of those guys and I appreciate that.”

“It’s what I do,” Bucky said. “You sure your arm’s all right?”

“Fine,” Clint said. The ice helped a lot. 

Bucky clicked his tongue, set the beer down, came over and took the bag of frozen vegetables off Clint’s arm, turning it carefully between his hands. “You’re givin’ me goddamn flashbacks to goddamn Rogers,” he said, half under his breath. He pressed his flesh-and-blood thumb in a particular spot and Clint managed to suppress a yelp. Bucky gave him a calculating look. “You’re not augmented, right?”

“Just a guy,” Clint said, a little bitterly. 

“I didn’t _ask_ for this shit,” Bucky said, voice mild, and ran his thumb along the side of the outer forearm bone. “Okay,” he said, and put the ice back on it, letting go and going back to his beer. 

“Told you I was okay,” Clint said, a little resentful. 

Bucky gave him a look. “You think I don’t have ten solid formative years of Steve sayin’ the same thing and lyin’ half the time at least?” He swigged from the beer. “Please.” 

Clint noticed something tight in his gesture, drew a conclusion, and said, “Are you freezing? I’m freezing.”

Bucky shrugged, but Clint caught the way the muscles in his jaw moved— his teeth were chattering. Yeah, they’d gotten soaked pretty good. 

“Come on,” Clint said, “take that gross wet leather jacket off, I know I got something here, you’re not that much bigger than me.” He put his beer down and went into his bedroom, shucking his soaked shirt. He changed quickly, switched out the left hearing aid that had gotten a little wet for a fresh one out of his spare set. The spare set worked okay but had bulky electronics that sat externally, and weren’t as comfortable. He should switch both, he knew, but he didn’t want to spend the time with Bucky standing out there, so he made do.

 He came back out with an armload of stuff he dumped on the counter. “Put something on, there, dry off.” He yanked a towel out of the clean laundry basket and threw it at Bucky, who caught it with the metal hand. 

Bucky hesitated, then said, “Thanks,” and unbuckled the crazy tac jacket.

“Why are you all geared up for a mission anyway?” Clint asked. 

“I was out with Steve earlier,” Bucky said. “Checking out some thing or other, I honestly didn’t read the — the thing.” He shrugged, and peeled himself out of the leather tac jacket. He had a navy blue tank top on underneath, with the Captain America logo on it. 

“People make fun of me for wearing Avengers merch,” Clint said, “but seriously, whatever company they’re using for those t-shirts is the bomb. They’re so comfortable.”

“I know,” Bucky said. He peeled out of the tank top, which was wet— damn, he’d really stood full-brunt in those sprinklers, his underwear was probably soaked— and picked out one of the Hawkeye t-shirts from the pile. He was, Clint had seen a lot of scars in his day but the scars where his metal arm met his skin were a whole new kind of thing. He didn’t look too hard, although he really wanted to look at that metal arm some more.

“What size shoes you wear?” Clint asked. “I got tens.”

“These are fine,” Bucky said. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He looked more like a twelve anyway.

“How’d you find me?” Clint asked. 

Bucky shrugged. “I got my ways,” he said. He grimaced. “Natasha’s gonna kill me, you know.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “she’s pretty careful about how much of my shit she meddles in.”

“She keeps pretty close tabs,” Bucky said. He shrugged into a hoodie and zipped it up. “Thanks. I’m not so good with the cold.”

“I suppose you spent enough time on ice,” Clint said. “Uh. Okay. That probably sounded dumb.”

“No,” Bucky said, “that’s pretty much it.” He gave Clint an uneven, wry smile. “Tony put temperature controls in the arm, but it only does so much. My metabolism’s fucked-up, my body’s temperature regulation is fucked-up, my brain chemistry’s fucked-up, my digestion’s a fuckin’ disaster.” He shrugged. “I got the knockoff version of the special Steve got, my shit’s not nearly so good.”

“Augmentation’s not all it’s cracked up to be?” Clint asked. 

“Got it in one,” Bucky said, raising his beer, and Clint clinked their bottles together. 

“C’mon,” Clint said. “Time for roof dinner. Leave the guns.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky said, but he unbuckled the holsters and slung them over the back of a chair.

Clint went back to the fridge and pulled out the rest of the twelve-pack of beer. “Here,” he said, “take that,” and leaned back in, rummaging, and retrieved the package of kielbasa he’d picked up. Sofia always had rolls. “C’mon.”

Bucky followed him bemusedly up to the roof, where the doings were in full swing. “Oh,” Bucky said, surveying the scene. “Grilling. On the roof.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. He went over and put the kielbasa down on the table. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hey,” Grills answered. “Hawkguy. What’s with the corn?”

“Got beat up,” Clint said. “Like usual.” He jerked his head sideways. “Grills, this is one of my coworkers.”

“Jimmy,” Bucky said, setting his beer down and offering his right hand to shake. Jimmy. Hilarious. Clint stared at him, but Bucky didn’t acknowledge it.

“Jimmy,” Grills said. “I’m Gil.” He gestured with the barbecue tongs. “You work with Hawkguy? You an Avenger?”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, we work together,” he said. “Usually not on the same team.”

“Are you famous?” Grills asked. “You got a superhero alter ego?”

“Nah,” Bucky said, “I’m not famous. I’m just another sharpshooter. Support staff, y’know?”

“Bows and arrows?” Grills asked. 

Bucky shook his head, and it was sort of weird how, how _normal_ he looked. “Nah,” he said, “I use guns like a regular person.”

“How’s a guy get into a line of work like that?” Grills asked. 

“Army,” Bucky said, and Clint realized it was true. “You join the Army, they figure out you’re good at it, you wind up in Special Forces.” He shrugged. “It’s a job, is the thing.”

“True, true,” Grills said. “Hey, you like hamburgers? I got an extra I gotta get off here before I can cook the kielbasas.”

“I _love_ hamburgers,” Bucky said sincerely. 

 

____________ 

 

Some nights the kids from the lower rearmost apartment hooked up their iPod to speakers and danced. Tonight was one of those nights, and Clint was listening with some fascination to Bucky— “Jimmy”— shooting the shit in perfect Spanish with Simone when the music started, and so he didn’t miss the way Bucky’s head whipped up when he heard the music. 

The look in his eye was so intense Clint actually sat forward in alarm. “Hey,” he said, “it’s just the kids. They like dancin’.”

Bucky’s expression went strange and distant, sort of wistful. “What?” Simone asked, mercifully in English.

“I used to love to dance,” Bucky said, softly. 

“You don’t anymore?” Simone asked. 

Bucky stared distantly a moment longer, then blinked, and smiled ruefully at Simone. “Sometimes you go away,” he said, “and not all of you comes back.” 

“Your dancing ability got shot off in the war?” she asked, amused. 

“Well,” Bucky said, and smiled. “No. Just my left arm.” 

Simone looked startled, and glanced at Clint, who made an innocent face. “It’s metal,” Clint admitted. 

Bucky pulled up the hoodie sleeve, showed a gleam, let it drop. “That’s my secret Avengers superpower,” Bucky said, mouth twisting with wry amusement. “I’m part robot. Great for sniper accuracy, less great for, you know. Dancing.”

“What, you lose a leg too?” Simone asked. “You can probably still dance. I mean, I don’t think the sense of rhythm is exclusively contained in the left arm, anyway.”

“I don’t know that the music’s the right kind,” Clint said. 

“Oh,” Bucky said, “I used to be able to dance to anything.” He was watching the kids, who were mostly just flailing around. He had a weird sort of half-smile on his face, his fifth beer dangling from between gloved fingers Clint knew were metal. 

Huh, bet that kept the beer from getting warm.

“You wanna dance,” Simone said, “I’ll dance with you.”

And so it was that Clint found himself sitting on the roof of his building watching the Winter Soldier teach his neighbor’s teenage kids Depression-era dance steps. It turned out that, somewhere, Bucky had also picked up a working knowledge of a few of the more modern dance moves. Simone fetched up against the roof edge next to Clint, laughing breathlessly. “Jimmy’s a scream,” she said. “He been workin’ with you long? Where’s he from?”

“He’s local,” Clint said. “Been away a while though.” He shrugged. “He only started workin’ with us kinda recently. He was on, uh, extended medical leave up until just a couple months back.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Simone said. “Did he get hurt working with the Avengers?”

“No,” Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck. “His old job. Messed him up pretty good, but it got him on our radar so we took him in as a transfer while he was healing up.” Clint shrugged.

“What was his old job?” Simone asked.

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Clint said, “and it’s not anything I’ve got the clearance to know.” 

“Huh,” she said. “Well, anyway, he’s a nice kid.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “he is. He’s real good at what he does, too. Even when he gets mad, it never gets in his head. He’s a real professional.”

“I guess that’s important, in your line of work,” she said. 

“Not supposed to talk about it,” Clint said, shooting her a sidelong look. 

She laughed, and mimed locking her mouth with a key, and throwing it away. “I wouldn’t say a word,” she said. 

“Appreciate it,” Clint said, and drained the last of his beer. He’d already had to send Aimee the bike messenger girl out for more, because he was working on a good beer buzz and Bucky, well, he wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down, and he was on his sixth. But she didn’t mind, because he always gave her too much money and told her to keep the change, on top of whatever her going rate was. It was weird, getting used to not worrying about money, but he was good at it when it counted. 

He cracked open his seventh, and Bucky came stumbling over laughing like Clint had never seen him before. “Your people are a gas and a half,” Bucky said, slinging himself up next to Clint with reckless disregard for gravity. Clint wordlessly handed him another beer. Bucky never needed the bottle opener, he just plucked the caps off with his left hand. “I didn’t know Brooklyn was still like this.”

“I think Brooklyn’s always been like this,” Clint said. 

“You ain’t from here,” Bucky said, and he either didn’t know or didn’t care that Simone was still standing in earshot, though she’d been distracted by one of her kids. 

“Naw,” Clint said. “Iowa.”

“You know I ain’t from here either,” Bucky said. The more he laughed, or the more he drank, the more Brooklyn he sounded. 

“No?” Clint looked at him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Indiana,” Bucky said, and clinked his bottle against Clint’s. 

“Really,” Clint said. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Moved here when I was like twelve. Picked up the accent in a real hurry, lemme tell ya.”

“It’s an awkward age,” Clint said. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “it’s kind of important to fit in, when you’re twelve.”

Clint shrugged. “Not that I’d know, I was raised by carnies.”

“Really,” Bucky said. 

“Oh yeah,” Clint said. “Traveling circus. I learned to shoot as a sideshow act.”

Bucky shook his head slowly, taking a long pull from his beer. “I never touched a gun ’til I joined the Army,” he said. 

“Not a lot of guns on the streets in your day?” Clint asked. 

Bucky shook his head. “Brass knuckles, though,” he said.

“You don’t need ‘em now,” Clint said. 

Bucky regarded his left hand, and laughed. “Guess not,” he said. 

“Never thought of it, huh?” Clint said. 

Bucky wriggled the fingers of the left hand, made it into a fist, looked bleak a moment. “Not really the same category,” he said. “Brass knuckles fuck you up, yeah. But this thing, I’ve put clean through a ribcage.” His expression faded to blankness, then he took another long pull on the bottle. “Ain’t the same.”

“Yeah okay,” Clint said. That had gone to a dark place, he hadn’t intended that. “Hey, it’s getting cold. Let’s go inside.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He drained the bottle, and collected the empties into the first box. Clint grabbed the remainder of the second twelve-pack. “I liked that bike messenger girl,” Bucky said contemplatively.

“She’s got a girlfriend,” Clint said. 

“Oh,” Bucky said, “not like that— I ain’t in the market for that kind of— I just meant— she seemed cool.” 

“Hey, Jimmy,” Simone said, “it was fun dancin’ with you, maybe we’ll see you around again?” And she hugged him. Bucky laughed, a little shy.

“Yeah,” he said, “maybe.” He looked so goddamn normal. And it hit Clint then, it hit him with cold terrible force, what had been taken from this guy— he’d thought about it before, they all had, and he’d figured he understood, what with his experiences with Loki and all, but this, seventy years of not being a person, and he’d been watching Bucky claw his way back to, to something, and to see him now, to see this flash of who he must have once been— it made Clint’s teeth lock shut for a moment. This guy, this normal guy, who liked to dance, who would do anything to protect a friend. 

“If all your coworkers are this nice you should bring more of them around,” Simone said, and it was Clint’s turn to get hugged. 

“You know,” Clint said, “not a lot of people are nice on this guy’s level. Kinda hard to top this one.” 

Bucky looked a little surprised at that, but not offended, so Clint took it as a win. They went to the stairwell, and Clint knocked his shoulder against Bucky’s. “Not in the market, huh?”

Bucky looked away, grinning. “I got a pretty full dance card,” he said. 

“I ain’t the jealous type,” Clint said. “For the record. Natasha seems happy.”

“Natasha does what she wants,” Bucky said. “I’m happy when it involves me.”

“That’s pretty much how I’ve felt about it,” Clint said. 

“There isn’t really any other way to feel about it,” Bucky said, shooting him a grin. The grin faded, though. “She’s going to kill me.”

Clint hesitated at his door. “Oh,” he said, bracing himself— something was off, air current maybe— “pretty sure she’s here to kill _me_.”

 


	2. Let's Do Nice Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A switch to Natasha's POV-- and Natasha's agenda.

Clint knew she was there. Natasha leaned her chin on her hand and waited for him to open the door. His eyes fell on her immediately where she was sitting at the foot of the loft stairs. Bucky was right behind him— Bucky was wearing Clint’s clothes. She’d sort of expected that when she’d found Bucky’s tac jacket hung on the back of one of Clint’s chairs, but it was odd to see him in something she was so used to seeing on Clint.

He was wearing a Hawkeye t-shirt too, and it was a little bit tighter on him than it was on Clint, and it looked really good.

“I don’t know which of you to kill first,” she said.

“I could not stand by,” Bucky said in Russian, low and a little resentful, and set what sounded like a 12-pack of empty beer bottles down on the counter behind himself.

On his account, she was delighted to see him like this, defiant and protective; rescuing Clint from bullies was so classic Bucky Barnes all over that she’d already texted Steve about it. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d probably started a war with the Russian mafia. “You have too much love in your heart, James,” she said in Russian, then continued in English, “which does nothing to get Clint off the hook. You are a fool, Barton.”

Clint looked mulish, and she could not help but feel stirred profoundly to love of both of them. “I gotta do what I gotta do,” he said.

“You have both of you started a war,” she said. She looked from one of them to the other. Bucky had his chin shoved out, aggressively stubborn. Clint was doing his not-quite-eye-contact thing where he kind of shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck but absolutely did not apologize. He’d picked this course of action and he wasn’t backing down.

“I been in plenty of wars,” Bucky said. “And for far less cause.”

It was sort of heart-warming, she supposed, that his defiance was all little Bucky Brooklyn swagger and pretty much no Winter Soldier steel. Kind of adorable. Kind of a pain in the ass. She’d said as much to Steve. Her phone vibrated with Steve writing back that the pain in the ass part came with the territory. She regarded her phone, looked up over the edge of it at the two men, and felt in that moment like they were her two miscreant boys. “This is as close as I ever want to come to being a mother,” she said dryly.

“No offense,” Clint said, “but that’s not a relationship I’d ever care to have with you.”

“I’d be a great mother,” Natasha said, pretending to be more offended than she was.

“You’d be a fuckin’ terrifying mother,” Bucky said. He seemed to belatedly realize what he’d said. “Not that there’d be anything wrong with that.”

Her phone buzzed again. Steve, following up with, “Sometimes though when he’s being a pain in the ass it’s so adorable I just want to fuck him silly,” and she bit her lip because well, it was kind of true.

She wrote back, “Both of them,” and looked up at them. Clint was watching her, doing the thing he did where he looked like he was a big stupid mutt but was actually analyzing probably fifteen things at once, none of which he’d be able to explain clearly how he knew. Bucky had settled into a patient glower that promised he could do this all night and never one time ease off his commitment to whatever course of action he’d initially decided on.

Well, he’d survived Steve Rogers somehow, and HYDRA after that, so he probably _could_ do this all night.

“Ambitious,” Steve wrote back. “Go for it.”

“Is that a dare?” she texted him, nonchalantly tossing her hair back and climbing to her feet, stalking slowly down the steps. They’d started a war, sure, but it was unlikely anyone would move against them tonight. It had to trickle back up to the movers and shakers, then back down, and then this building would probably get burned to the ground and everyone in it would die. So it wasn’t like there wasn’t a lot of work to do, damage control and whatnot. But it could wait.  
Her phone buzzed again in her hand. “Good conversation, huh?” Bucky asked. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and read the text. It was Sam.

“Yes that’s a dare,” Sam wrote, and followed it immediately with “PICS OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.”

“I demand a forfeit in return,” she wrote back to Sam. “If I can do this I should be granted a boon.” But then she put her phone away and smiled savagely at Bucky.  
“Yeah,” she said, “it kind of is, but not as good as this conversation could be.” She stalked closer to him, poked him in the chest with her forefinger, hard. But the amount of pressure she could bring to bear with one finger wasn’t going to be enough to knock him off-balance. Clint stood unbalanced sometimes, but Bucky tended to plant himself foursquare wherever he was, and almost never had his weight on his heels. He wasn’t a scrambler, he was a much more deliberate fighter, though none the slower for it. Clint was nothing if not a scrambler, and almost never had both feet entirely on the ground. Except while he was aiming, and even then not all the time.

Bucky was watching her bemusedly, jaw still set stubbornly though his eyebrows had risen a little and gone more mobile. Clint, though. He was quick on the uptake when he cared to be, and he was eyeing her speculatively. He knew her body language very well now, after their years of working together. And she— well, she knew everything about him, including that his divorce had gone through and his thing with Jess was decidedly no longer a thing. He hadn’t seemed to feel himself bound by it, but Natasha had enough trouble making friends with women without sleeping with their boyfriends, so she’d avoided anything of that sort with Clint while it seemed like he and Jessica might have had a chance to make things work out.

So she pulled her hand back, crossed her arms over her chest, and prowled over toward Clint.

“You’re, um,” Clint said, but didn’t make it into a sentence. He flicked his eyes toward Bucky, though. “A thing.”

“Not exclusively,” she said, giving Clint a feral smile. His eyes went fractionally wider, and then he swallowed, hard. “He likes to share. We do a lot of sharing, don’t we, Bucky?”

Bucky Barnes was no fool. He was on the same page. “You could say that,” he said, amused.

“You know I’m good at multitasking,” Natasha said, and reached past Clint to pull a beer out of the non-empty twelve pack, brushing very close to him to do it. It wasn’t a twist-off cap, and she looked in annoyance for the bottle opener Clint would surely be carrying, but Clint pointed behind her, at Bucky, and Bucky grinned and held out his metal fingers.

“Those are good at multitasking too,” she said, making a deliberate choice to invite Bucky to come closer instead of moving toward him. He took the bait, stepping forward, and she tugged him closer into her space. She was still standing in Clint’s space. He was kind of pinned up against the counter but she knew he’d have no issues going right over the top of it if he didn’t want to be where he was. He’d probably even make it look graceful, until he managed to hurt himself or break an important piece of furniture. Or both. Probably both.

Bucky snapped the cap off easily with his metal hand, and leaned past Clint to pull out another beer for himself. Clint was showing signs of having had numerous beers, but Bucky— well, she knew it took a lot to touch him. “You’re really good at multitasking, though,” Bucky said.

“Okay,” Clint said, a little suspicious and oh yes, definitely a little turned on, “they were gossiping that you were banging Steve and Bucky at the same time but I figured that was just gossip.

“Sometimes both at once,” Natasha said, with a slow smile. “Sometimes they take turns. Sometimes Sam too.” She licked her lower lip, watched Clint watch her do it. “Sometimes I just watch and they do each other.”

“No way,” Clint said, and looked over at Bucky, who shrugged, but looked smug. “No— no way! Not Cap.”

“Oh yes,” Natasha said, “especially him.”

“I was kidding about the threesome!” Clint said. “Oh my God. And the— oh my God. All of the rumors are— all of the rumors are true?”

“Odds are pretty good some of ‘em ain’t,” Bucky said. “If they’re about me, though, nobody tells ‘em to me so I can’t verify ‘em.”

Clint opened himself a beer and took a long swig. “Captain America,” he said dazedly.

“Is totally dating the Falcon,” Bucky said, “and sleeping with me, and doing whatever the hell Natasha wants him to do whenever she wants it.”

“I never,” Clint said, “wow, no, that’s— that’s pretty much all the rumors.” He shook his head. “You said you had a full dance card, Barnes, but I thought—“ He squinted suddenly. “Wait, some of the rumors have Tony Stark in them. Is Tony sleeping with all of you too?”

Bucky almost snorted beer out his nose. “No,” he said. “No, not— no.” He wiped his face, and laughed, and swayed back into Natasha’s space.

“No,” Natasha said, a little chilly.

“I,” Clint said again. Bucky was eyeing him, not particularly subtly; the motion of Bucky’s jaw indicated he was sucking speculatively on his teeth. Clint noticed. He wasn’t a blusher, but he was a stammerer, a little bit, and he said, “Uh, I— uh, my— uh—“

“It’s cool if you’re not into guys,” Bucky said, taking pity on him. “You can make a sandwich without the bread really touchin’ all that much.”

“Where did you learn to talk like that,” Natasha said, giving him a look before turning back to Clint. She knew he wasn’t gay, but he wasn’t skeeved out by it either. You had to be careful with some of his triggers, he had a history very different from hers but no less loaded, but he was pretty good at stating and enforcing his boundaries. “But I like it when the bread touches.”

“I, uh,” Clint said. “I don’t know a lot about sandwiches.” He was pretty adventurous once he was turned on as long as you didn’t let him take a minute to feel embarrassed. Momentum was key, with Clint.

Natasha moved closer into his space, pinning him against the counter with her body and looking up into his face. “Want to learn?” she asked, dipping her eyes down to his mouth, parting her lips, slowly lifting her eyes back up, and giving him a wicked smile.

“Uh,” Clint said, but his breathing had picked up. His eyes flicked from her mouth over her shoulder to Bucky, where they lingered and his expression shifted slightly, went blank but not taut. He didn’t expect what he was seeing but he didn’t dislike it either. She heard a scuff as Bucky stepped closer.

“The first rule about making sandwiches is that none of the ingredients have to touch anywhere they don’t want to,” Bucky said, and he was right behind Natasha, but not pressing in, not pushing against her— not cornering Clint. He still had a clear exit if he slipped to the right, he just had to break contact with Natasha to get the room to move.

“Feel like that’s kind of an important rule anyway,” Clint said, but his wariness was fading.

“It is,” Bucky said. “You just seemed maybe like you were nervous about that.”

“Nervous isn’t the word I’d use,” Clint said. He was into it, now; his mouth had curled a little as he’d spoken. That was it. Now, momentum.

Natasha leaned up and in, sliding her hand around the back of his neck, and fitted her mouth against his, plenty of time for him to stop her, plenty of room for him to pull away. But he didn’t, he opened his mouth to her and let her press him into the countertop and pull his hips against hers. She opened her eyes and saw that he had his eyes open as well, and he was— he was watching Bucky, who she could feel was still a couple of inches behind her.  
She broke off, breathing a little hard, and Clint’s body language had gone a lot looser. She had momentum on her side. “Clint,” she said quietly, “do you want to do this?”

“I don’t have to be in on this,” Bucky said, quiet and hoarse. “I wouldn’t be annoyed.”

“No, it’s cool,” Clint said, focused and intense, and he reached past her and grabbed Bucky by the front of his shirt and pulled him in closer.

He was strong enough to move Bucky like that, and Natasha made a little noise as Bucky stumbled in against her. “Okay if I touch you, or should I focus on Natasha?” Bucky asked, and his hands were on Natasha’s hips.

“I ain’t gonna melt,” Clint said, and slid his arm up. He had to have his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, from the angle, but it was behind her and Natasha couldn’t see. “Don’t be shy, Barnes,” Clint went on in a moment, “I’m a quick study.”

“Natasha doesn’t kiss and tell exactly,” Bucky said, kissing his way up the side of her neck, “but she has let some hints drop that you might be a man of some prowess.”

“Really,” Clint said, sounding surprised. “Well— I mean, I practice.”

Natasha laughed, at that, and had to pull Clint down to kiss him. She had missed him, was the thing. It wasn’t that she had any shortage of kissing in her life now— she was actually going through both chapstick and lube at an alarming rate— it was just that he was so very himself, with his strong battered hands and his broken-nosed funny face and his wiry body and his idiot-savant incisive genius.

He tasted like beer, but that wasn’t particularly a surprise, and so did she. Bucky made a quiet, appreciative noise and put his hands on her hips, pulling his pelvis in tight against hers.

Clint made an answering noise, and she released his mouth, smirking up at him. He met her gaze, and his eyelids flickered as he registered the challenge she was giving him. He looked past her, looking at Bucky, and his expression was a little dubious, a little wary, but it cleared as she watched, resolve flickering across the set of his mouth. Bucky’s breath caught in a hint of a laugh, and Clint wrapped his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck again and leaned in.  
Natasha had to sidestep a little so she had room to look over and watch. Clint was shorter, head tilted back a little, but he was definitely the one initiating, and Bucky was standing still, eyes closed but mouth responsive as Clint kissed him. It was chaste, at first, but Natasha saw the moment Clint decided this wasn’t bad at all and opened his mouth. She knew then it would be all over for him, because one thing about Bucky, he was a really good kisser. Part of his chameleon charm was that his skill at reading people extended to their mouths, and he usually caught on very quickly to what someone preferred. She’d devoted a lot of time to studying this, watching the way he kissed Steve vs. the way he kissed Sam and comparing them to the way he kissed her. He never kissed her the same way twice; he was very consistent with Steve, but for her, he usually read her mood or her current persona. Sometimes he knew where her head was more than she did, and he always kissed her accordingly.

He wasn’t being aggressive with Clint, he was being sweet and a little dirty, straightforward and friendly.

“Jesus,” Clint said breathlessly, after a long moment, “that’s a lot hotter than I expected.”

“I’m very good at what I do,” Bucky said, voice low and hoarse, nearly a whisper, and he tilted his head and Clint swayed in and kissed him again, and Natasha wriggled between them in delight, Bucky’s erection pressed up against her ass and Clint’s against her stomach.

“Jesus Christ,” Clint said, gasping for breath.

Bucky laughed, voice vibrating in his chest against Natasha’s back. He threaded his arm around her waist, and slid his hand up under her shirt, finding her breast and cradling it in his palm. “If I can do that to your mouth,” Bucky murmured, “think about what I could do to your cock.”

“He can go all night,” Natasha said. “Between him and Steve sometimes there isn’t a whole lot of sleeping.”

“Tried once,” Bucky said, “to find out how many times Steve could come, and the only reason we stopped was that it was the next day and he almost passed out from dehydration. Turns out he doesn’t really have a limit.”

“Shit,” Clint said. “Do you?”

“Never tried,” Bucky answered. “Not really interested, on my own account.”

“James is a giver,” Natasha said. She slid her arms around Clint’s neck and pulled him down. “I don’t have a limit either, for the record.”

“No?” Clint looked intrigued.

“No,” she said, with a smirk. “Come on, your bed is big enough for three, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “or, shit, if it’s not, I’m real good at balancing.”

Bucky laughed, and stepped back to give them room to move. Natasha felt cold at the loss of him, but he didn’t go far, and she reached back and twined her fingers through his metal ones and he smiled at her.

Clint led them up the stairs to the loft where his bed was. Natasha threaded the fingers of her other hand through his, heart fluttering like she was new at this or something— but Bucky, and Clint, together, she’d never expected they’d get along like this. She probably should have, though.

“I’m going to break the ice,” she said, letting go of both their hands as they arrived in Clint’s familiar bedroom, the queen-size mattress on the box spring on the floor, absolutely smothered in blankets and pillows, arrows everywhere, clothes strewn around in varying states of cleanliness. Clint turned on the bedside lamp as she pulled her shirt off over her head, unfastened her bra, and stood topless with her hands on her hips.

Both men stared mesmerized at her breasts, which amused her. “You’ve seen these,” she said. “Both of you.”

“That don’t mean I can’t be awestruck all over again,” Bucky said.

“Ooh,” Clint said, “good one.”

“If you two high-five,” Natasha said warningly, but didn’t continue, because actually that would be adorable as fuck.

“I uh,” Clint said, fidgeting a little, “I don’t actually, uh, know any threesome etiquette.”

“Try taking your pants off,” Bucky said, unzipping his— actually Clint’s— hoodie the rest of the way. “Or letting one of us do it.” He shucked the hoodie, arm gleaming, and Clint chewed on his lip nervously, looking at it— yeah, he was into it, everybody was into it.

“Robot fetish,” Natasha said, gesturing at Clint’s fascinated expression.

“Everyone’s got one,” Bucky said, a little resignedly. He stripped the Hawkeye t-shirt off over his head and tossed it onto the chair by the bed, then made a little presentational flourish with his hands as if offering up his torso for display. “There you go. The whole thing.”

“Bad ass,” Clint breathed, coming closer and looking. Bucky huffed out a laugh, and Clint reached out, hesitating to glance up for permission, to trace carefully along the left collarbone with a gentle kind of reverence. “That’s metal as fuck.”

“It is, actually,” Bucky said. “Metal.” He was a little awkward, self-conscious, but it occurred to Natasha that both Sam and Steve were more likely to react with sadness about the scarring, and Clint’s relative unconcern was probably pretty welcome. He jerked his chin. “C’mon, price of admission, take yours off too.”

Clint had never been shy, so he scrambled out of his shirt without hesitation. Natasha came up behind him, crowding him a little closer to Bucky, and slid her hands around, caressing his sides and down his flat belly, toying with his waistband. Bucky looked him up and down, eyelids heavy, sucking on his teeth.

“Guess I see why you’re not too worried about all my scars,” Bucky said, and reached out slowly, telegraphing the movement, to trace along a scar that curved over Clint’s ribs. “You’ve seen some shit of your own.”

“No healing factor,” Clint said. Natasha noticed that one of his forearms was bruised dark purple, and she tugged his hand so he bent his elbow for her to inspect it. “It’s not broken,” he said.

She kissed it, very gently, testing out how swollen and tender it was, measuring the heat in it. Swollen, yes, but he didn’t flinch.

“I checked,” Bucky said, “it’s not broken.”

Clint reached up and put his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling him down to fit their mouths together, and it was so hot Natasha’s belly tingled. She really hadn’t expected Clint to be this enthusiastic about it. He’d never shown anything but the most distant, academic aesthetic or sexual interest in males.

“Anything off-limits?” Bucky asked after a moment, breathlessly low and amused.

“I dunno,” Clint said, “I don’t— I’m not used to this.”

“Am I your first guy?” Bucky asked, playing with his tongue behind his lip, mouth crooked and eyebrows up— coy and flirty and fuckin’ hot.

“Sorta,” Clint said, and she couldn’t see his expression but Bucky’s went a little flat, then pinched a bit.

“Gotcha,” Bucky said. “Hey.” He rested his forehead against Clint’s a moment. “I get it. Me too.”

“Yeah?” Clint sounded reassured. Natasha parsed the conversation, hands hooked in Clint’s waistband, and felt a stab of cold in her gut. She hadn’t really known— but well, some of the things he’d said— she’d known he’d been sexually assaulted by a woman before, put in uncomfortable positions a couple of times, but this implied more male involvement than he’d let on.

She hadn’t thought he’d keep that from her.

Well. Turnabout was fair play. She’d known things as they’d become relevant. That was how they worked. There was plenty she hadn’t told him. Though unusually, for her, she’d told him shit he didn’t strictly need to know, because he’d proven himself trustworthy with it.

Except telling it to Loki, but that didn’t count, and she’d used it against him anyway. Sometimes it worked in your favor to have opened your heart, because most people were made vulnerable by that sort of thing. Not her, though.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He kissed Clint’s temple. “Shit’s been complicated. Let’s keep this simple, hey? You don’t wanna do something, we can change plans. I’m easy.”

“I’m countin’ on it,” Clint said, with a very cute leer.

Natasha took that as an invitation and slid her hands down into his waistband, unbuttoning the fly of his jeans. Clint’s hips hitched a little as Bucky took his mouth again, pressing up against him, leaving Natasha just enough room to wriggle her hand down into Clint’s pants and into his underwear.

She hummed in pleasure to find him already mostly-hard, and squeezed him familiarly, giving him a couple of strokes. Bucky was taking no prisoners, from how hard Clint was breathing.

Bucky let his mouth go after a good interval and said, breathless, “Can I suck your dick?”

Clint shuddered in Natasha’s arms. “Has anybody ever said no to that?”

“Not to me,” Bucky said, smirking. He stepped back and looked down to where Natasha was still stroking Clint’s erection. He grinned, and looked back up to Clint’s face. “You’re gonna want to sit down. I’m pretty good at this.”

Natasha moved the pile of folded laundry from the chair by the bed and sat Clint down in it, staying behind him, running her hands over his chest. Bucky stood in front of him for a moment, looking down and running his tongue over his teeth, flesh and blood hand toying with his belt buckle.

All at once he unfastened his belt and knelt in front of Clint, adjusting himself in his jeans and then putting his hands lightly on Clint’s knees, bringing the full force of his gaze up to Clint’s face. “You gonna watch?” he asked Natasha, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she said, leaning her breasts against Clint’s shoulder.

“I think I got the better view,” Bucky said. He slid his hands up Clint’s thighs, watching Clint’s face with a smirk that bordered more on wonderment than smugness.

“I’ve seen Clint’s O face,” Natasha said. “Watching your mouth stretch around a cock is hotter.”

Clint made a little noise that sounded, perhaps, like agreement; his hands were wrapped around the sides of the chair seat. Bucky wriggled closer, easing his body between Clint’s knees, and moved his hands up to unfasten Clint’s jeans.

“Tell me he’s wearing the Captain America underpants,” Natasha said as Bucky pulled the zipper down.

“Nope,” Clint said.

Bucky laughed. “They’re Hawkeye boxers,” he said. “Why am I not surprised.” He looked up at Clint, biting his lip as he reached into the opened fly of his jeans. “You have Captain America underwear?”

“People send me Avengers merch because they think it’s funny,” Clint said, then shuddered in Natasha’s grasp as Bucky squeezed at him.

“Oh, nice,” Bucky said appreciatively, rummaging around— well, there wasn’t a great deal of room for rummaging, but he was making do. He was using the human hand, the metal one still resting by Clint’s hip. He’d been getting more comfortable with the metal hand but Natasha couldn’t blame him for being a little cautious.

He managed to work Clint’s boxers down out of the way, and pulled out Clint’s erection, licking and then biting his lower lip in clear anticipation. Natasha’s mouth went dry, and she murmured, “Yeah, it’s nice.”

Clint was uncut, and Bucky worked his foreskin skillfully with a few firm strokes before he grinned up at both of them and switched to his metal hand. Clint’s breathing had gone deep, and he twitched at the contact of the metal hand.

“It’s got temperature controls,” Bucky said, watching Clint from under the fringe of his eyelashes. Clint writhed and yelped as the metal hand clearly got either colder or hotter, and Bucky grinned, chewing his lip and wriggling still closer. “It’s got a lot of tricks.”

“Oh God,” Clint said faintly, and Bucky ran his tongue over his teeth and lowered his head. “Holy— holy shit.” Clint let his head fall back against Natasha’s shoulder as Bucky put his mouth on his cock.

“Look at you,” Natasha crooned, sliding a hand down to tangle it in Bucky’s hair. He sat on his heels and licked up the bottom of Clint’s shaft, grinning up at Natasha beautifully, and she cradled his jaw in her hand, feeling Clint’s cock pressing against the inside of Bucky’s cheek as he worked. “Oh,” she whispered, “I love to watch you.”

Bucky made a pleased little noise and took Clint as far as he could. Natasha hummed in pleasure and wriggled, finding an angle where she could grind herself just a little against the seam of her jeans. “Oh, holy fuck,” Clint gasped, shivering, “oh my God."

“What a pretty mouth,” Natasha said. “Such a clever mouth.”

Bucky was being merciless, working him deep and thorough. He eased up as Clint started to shiver, and gave them both a smug look. “Doin’ all right there?” he asked, and swallowed Clint back down before he could answer.

“Yeah,” Clint managed, “holy— uh—“ With an effort, he collected himself enough to ask, “should we get a condom?”

Bucky looked up at him, considering that, then pulled off, but kept up a steady rhythm with his hand up and down. “I’m kind of, uh, a super-soldier,” he said, “so uh, anything you got can’t hurt me, and I can’t really be carrying anything, so the only reason would be if I didn’t like the taste.” He licked his teeth. “But I do, so,” and he shrugged.

“Okay then,” Clint said. “But uh, you keep that up, it’s gonna all be over.”

“We got time,” Bucky said, and looked at Natasha. “Don’t we?”

“When you’re done with him you’re doing me,” she said, a little unsteadily.

Bucky looked back at Clint. “You’re not a one-and-done kinda guy, are you?”

“No,” Natasha said for him.

“Heh,” Clint said, more or less agreeing.

“Give him a finger or two,” Natasha said. “The metal ones.”

Bucky adjusted himself in his pants again. “Yeah?” He looked at Clint.

“Yeah,” Clint said.

“Take the pants off, then,” Bucky said, and Clint lifted his hips and let Bucky pull his pants and underwear down and off. Natasha wriggled out of her jeans and went to sit on the edge of the bed where she could see what Bucky was doing better. She was wearing really cute underpants tonight, though, like she often did when she had no missions— some cheap but cute cage-back scarlet lace panties— so she left them on.

“C’mere,” Bucky said, and bodily lifted Clint and dumped him onto the bed next to Natasha. “I need a better angle.”

Clint made an undignified squawk, but landed well— he almost always landed well— and Natasha laughed in delight at how hungry Bucky looked as he crawled gracefully onto the bed. He moved like a big cat, the plates of one arm and shoulder sliding with sinister mechanical noises, the muscles of the other sliding silently, and the way he was clearly so hard in his jeans made her mouth water.

“Shit,” Clint panted, clearly noticing the same things.

Bucky grinned at him, and licked his lips, and looked over at Natasha and said, “Jesus Christ, could you be any hotter?”

Clint looked over too, a little dazed, and she smiled at both of them, leaned back a little, and slid her fingers down under the waistband of her panties. “Oh,” Clint moaned.

“Yeah,” Bucky said unsteadily.

“Finish him, and then I’ll let you work on me,” she said, moving her fingers under her panties and letting them make a wet noise as they parted her slick flesh.

Both of them moaned a little, and Bucky swallowed hard, pressing the heel of his hand against the somewhat overworked fly of his jeans. “God,” Clint said, “I want— you gotta let me help you out, there.”

“You’ll get a chance,” she said.

“You might have to fight me for it,” Bucky said, eyes looking a little glazed.

“I bet there’s enough to go around,” Clint said.

“I could spent the rest of my life with my face between Natasha’s thighs,” Bucky said.

“Keep focus,” Natasha said, snapping her fingers. “I told you to get those metal fingers in him and finish him properly.” It struck her that he should probably put a rubber glove on the metal hand, so she leaned off the bed, retrieved the first aid kit, and rifled through it until she found one.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky said, in Russian, and planted his metal hand in the middle of Clint’s chest, pushing him back down. He wrapped his right hand around Clint’s dick and swallowed it back down with an intentness of purpose that rivaled his murder-focus.

Clint made a strangled groaning noise and let his head flop back against the mattress. “Oh,” Natasha said, “I should sit on your face, keep you warm.”

Clint groaned again, hips hitching, and she could tell he was close. She was about to warn Bucky, but he pulled off just then, eyes glazed with focus, and grabbed Clint’s thigh, bending his knee and shoving his leg up. Natasha retrieved the lube from the box on the floor by the lamp and held it out to him, with the rubber glove.

“Thank you,” he said in Russian, and she wasn’t sure he realized he’d switched languages. Clint was so far gone it wasn’t bothering him, though. Nor was being held down, though Bucky had abandoned that— still, it was something Natasha generally didn’t do with Clint, just since he spent so much of his life fighting. But Bucky would know about that, so maybe he was better about keeping it obviously sexy rather than threatening.

He snapped the rubber glove on, then sat back on his heels after a moment’s pause. “What the hell,” he said, back in English and annoyed.

“Clint always buys the bullshit bottles of lube,” Natasha said. “He hasn’t learned that it’s pump dispenser or nothing.” She leaned over Clint’s body and took the tube, working the cap off for him, and handed it back. “Just hand it back to me when you’re done with it, so it doesn’t get all over everything.”

“I guess I should consider myself lucky I didn’t even know that there were bullshit bottles of this stuff,” Bucky said, giving Clint an amused look as he took the tube back from her and applied it to his gloved fingers.

“Natasha’s pretty smart,” Clint croaked, wriggling a little as he looked up at Natasha’s breasts, which were in his face as she leaned over to hand the tube back.

“Now hold still,” Bucky said solemnly. “I don’t want to hurt you with this thing.”

Clint’s look of alarm was phenomenally entertaining, but Bucky wiped it off his face by reattaching mouth to cock, and Natasha bent over and kissed Clint, then stuck her fingers in his mouth, and got his hands up over his head and sat on them playfully as if to restrain them, but he was using them to fondle and caress her and so he had a blissed-out helpless look but she knew he wasn’t near the edge of feeling trapped or scared.

Even when Bucky slid a metal finger in and his back arched off the bed and he made a really great noise. “You like that?” Natasha asked, and he whimpered in a very affirmative manner. “You like what James is doing to you.”

“Do what you will,” Clint gasped, writhing, “I’ll never talk.”

Bucky laughed, though his mouth was full. In a moment he surfaced enough to say, “Should I do my nefarious worst?”

“Do your nefarious worst,” Clint moaned, and laughed.

Bucky pulled out and put a second finger in alongside the first, and Clint whined and arched, and Natasha ground herself down against his hands and he worked clever fingers inside of her too and she made happy noises about it. She wanted to sit on his face but she didn’t want to distract him, she wanted him to look down and see that it was Bucky doing this, because Bucky was beautiful and this was something Clint clearly hadn’t thought he’d like as much as he was currently enjoying it.

“Bucky,” Natasha said, “you look so good when you suck cock.”

He made a little humming noise of pleasure at the praise; he was working Clint over from the inside and out with a singleness of purpose that was both intimidating and arousing to behold. Clint was gasping for breath, moaning on every exhale, and starting to shake apart, and Bucky was making the arm make little whirring noises with every movement and even though Clint was barely touching her Natasha was so turned-on she could hardly see straight.

She was just thinking it had to be about time when Clint finally gave a strangled shout, “Ogawm’gunnacuuhh—uuuhhhhm—mm,” and shuddered, twisting up in Bucky’s grip; Bucky pulled his mouth off, looking raptly attentive, and grinned fiercely as he slid his hand up Clint’s shaft and held it there as Clint came, long and hard, God he was pretty with his arms bent up and his legs bent and his whole muscled torso taut and arched and his face lost in it. Bucky’s right hand kept Clint from ejaculating straight into Bucky’s face, but just deflected it into a big mess all over Clint’s torso.

“Oh fuck,” Clint whimpered weakly, dazed, moving slowly and purposelessly, shuddering down toward a halt, “oh, oh fuck.”

“That was so pretty,” Bucky said, almost reverently. “Oh Clint. That was so pretty."

Clint made some great noises as Bucky pulled his fingers out and petted him with the flesh-and-bone hand, leaning over to stroke his face and slide his thumb into Clint’s mouth.

“Okay,” Clint moaned, still shuddering a little, “I’ll tell you anything you wanna hear.”

Bucky laughed, and kissed him, and Clint returned the kiss with a pretty little shiver. “Maybe you need a minute to recover.”

“No,” Clint said, “no, I’m good, put me in, coach.”

Natasha climbed off Clint’s hands. “I think he’s ours now,” she said to Bucky. “What shall we do with him?”

“Hmm,” Bucky said, and bent down to lick a splat of come off of Clint’s chest. “Nice things, I think, Natasha. Let’s do nice things with him.”

“He’s too pretty to use for evil,” Natasha agreed. “Mm, maybe you should fuck him.”

Clint twitched, at that, and looked— not alarmed, he looked interested. “Maybe,” Bucky said, giving Natasha an eyebrow raise, “or maybe we should ease him into this a little more gently.”

“He’s into it,” Natasha pointed out.

“I’m not _not_ into it,” Clint admitted.

“Fair,” Bucky said. “Well, that’s up to you. What, you just wanna watch all this?” he asked Natasha.

She wriggled a little. “Mm… no,” she admitted. She used to love to just watch, but she had to admit that she really wanted someone to get her off, right about now.

“You want heavy participation or light participation?” Bucky asked. He’d certainly observed how much more involved she’d gotten as she got more comfortable with everyone.

The tone of his voice made her shiver. “Heavy,” she said.

“You wanna sit on Clint’s face while I fuck him?” Bucky asked. “Orrrr, do you want to give him a little break and let me get you off while he recovers? Or do you have any other ideas?”

Clint shivered; Bucky was bent over him, kneeling between his legs, caressing him with the non-metal hand, and as Natasha considered her answer, Bucky tipped his head down and kissed Clint, lingering and sweet and thorough, and she sighed in appreciation. Clint yielded so prettily, blissed-out and gracefully sprawled; now that his hands were free, he brought one up to cup Bucky’s face against his, pushing his hair back.

“You got a great mouth,” Clint said eventually. Bucky grinned at him, heavy-lidded, and Clint swiped his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip. He reached out with his other hand and grabbed Natasha by the wrist. “C’mere,” he said.

She came willingly over, and Clint put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face toward Bucky’s. She laughed, and kissed Bucky, who was still basically lying on Clint. He tasted like Clint too, and she shivered a little in delighted anticipation.

“I dunno what you want,” Clint said, voice rumbling low, “but I wanna see you sit on Barnes’s dick, and if you get the angle right I can still play with your pussy. Maybe I’m just tryin’ to buy time while I recover but I feel like that’s a pretty good idea.”

Natasha gave an involuntary little twitch, and Bucky made a noise into her mouth. “That sounds like yes,” Clint said, and fidgeted. She opened her eyes— when had she closed them?— and turned her head to see that Clint had gone to work on the buttons of Bucky’s pants. “I ain’t seen what’s in here yet and I really want to.”

“Go easy on me,” Bucky said breathlessly. “You got me pretty worked up.”

“Yeah like you went easy on me,” Clint said, peeling Bucky’s jeans down. Natasha leaned off them and moved to help him, and in a moment they’d stripped him naked and he was lying on his back in the middle of the bed looking slightly disconcerted and really turned on. “Holy damn,” Clint said, and put his hand on Bucky’s erection, giving it a couple of gentle but purposeful strokes. Bucky made a strangled noise and twitched.

“He’s real pretty,” Natasha said. “He’s just— he’s real, real pretty.”

“He sure is,” Clint said. “Now I just— I can’t believe I never really truly considered this kind of thing before? But I think I get it now.”

“It’s the metal arm,” Bucky said. “People get all hot and bothered for cyborgs even though they never thought of it before. You, though, you gotta make out with Natasha a little more, I wanna see that.”

“I don’t think it’s the arm,” Clint said, “but I’m not gonna lie, the arm is hot as fuck.” He was still stroking Bucky’s dick, and bent to kiss him. Natasha made an appreciative little noise at how hot they were together.

It was a long moment before Clint sat up again, breathing hard. “Yeah okay,” he said, “you got a real good mouth.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said.

Bucky’s lips were red, shiny and swollen, and he licked them, heavy-lidded and breathing hard. “C’mon,” he said, and shoved himself up on his elbow, then sat up the rest of the way. “We gotta get her panties off her. You get her upper body, and I’ll take ‘em off her.”

“What, hold her down?” Clint asked, laughing. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“No,” Bucky said, grinning back at him. “Hold her up.”

“I could just,” Natasha said, but Bucky slid his hand up the outside of her thigh, wriggling his body into position between her thighs, and cupped her hips in his hands. Clint was behind her, by this shift, and he leaned in and put his hands on her waist, drawing them up to her breasts— “Oh,” she said, Clint’s breath on her neck, Bucky’s on her chest, their bodies warm and close and strong and their hands on her, and she let her head tip back against Clint’s shoulder, blinking in blank aroused surprise up at the ceiling, “oh.”

“See,” Bucky said soft, hoarse, and Clint wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck, her jaw. Bucky lifted her hips, tipping her back so her weight was against Clint, driving her farther into his grip, and with no part of her touching any part of the furniture or floor, Bucky pulled her panties down and off her legs, and lifted her thighs to his shoulders and put his face between her legs.

“Oh,” she said, and Clint made an appreciative noise right in her ear as Bucky tongue-kissed her, licking his way between her labia and pushing his tongue into her, holding her like she weighed nothing. Clint’s mouth worked at her too, and one of his hands was caressing her breasts, toying with her nipples. Normally she was the one in charge, in control of any multi-person sexual adventures— she just found it more comfortable to call the shots and make suggestions, and this was very unusual for her, but Bucky had clearly picked up on her very different mood. And she knew if she told him to, he’d put her down. So she let go, let them manhandle her, gave herself over to it, because she trusted them.

The realization gave the tiny bit of her brain that wasn’t occupied getting short-circuited by Bucky’s mouth a little pause— did she not trust Steve? Did she not trust Sam? She did, she really did, of course, but what she trusted them to do was the right thing, the greater-good thing, the save-the-world thing. Bucky, and Clint, she trusted to do what was best for her. It was different, crucially different. Sam and Steve trusted her to look out for herself, and she appreciated that, but these two, these men here, they knew her well enough that she didn’t have to.

“Oh God,” she said, “oh fuck— oh God—“ Her hips were higher than her shoulders, Clint had lowered her a little so he could come around and kiss the side of her jaw, and now her mouth, and he took her mouth roughly and she shuddered, gasping for breath, Bucky had his fingers in her now, she didn’t even know how he was holding her with one hand, she wasn’t sure where her legs were or what her arms were doing— wrapping around Clint’s head, mostly— “hmnhghh,” was the closest sound she could make to words, and she was coming, she was shaking and gasping and coming and Bucky was making great noises, his voice vibrating straight up her spine, and she shook and shuddered and Clint lifted her up and she let them put her wherever they wanted.

“Yeah?” Clint said, right into her ear, and she was more or less right-side up, and she looked down and Bucky was on his back, and they were both looking at her like they expected her to say something.

“Hm?” Bucky’s dick was sticking pretty much straight up, and she wanted to sit on it. Oh, that was what they were asking. “Yes! Yes, I want that.”

“Condom?” Clint asked.

She’d always been pretty faithful about those, given her lifestyle, but she’d fallen out of the habit with the super-soldiers, who couldn’t catch anything or carry anything, not even colds. And she’d kind of developed a fondness for it. She shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said.

“Sweet,” Clint said, and let her down into Bucky’s lap, and she wriggled a bit to get the angle right, and —

She and Bucky’s twin moaning exhalations of pleasure inadvertently harmonized, and she was too far gone to laugh, but managed a shivery giggle as she came to rest with her thighs at his hips and his cock all the way in her. He was big but when she was worked-up like this, slippery and elastic and swollen, he fit just perfectly in her, and she gave him a shaky, breathless smile.

“Is it good?” Clint murmured in her ear, voice resonating through her ribcage as he pressed himself up behind her. He was getting hard again, she thought from his body language. He had his hands all over her, her breasts and her waist.

“It’s good,” she said, “it’s so good.” She settled herself, tightening up all her internal muscles and readjusting her position to put him exactly where she wanted him, rolling her spine a little to get pressure on the places she needed it. Bucky made some good noises, at that, and his hands settled around her hips. God, he was pretty, he was so pretty, his face all slack with pleasure and his eyes sparkling, lips swollen and parted. “Isn’t he pretty,” she pointed out to Clint, whose face was next to hers.

“He is,” Clint said. “Is he fucking you good?”

“He could fuck me harder,” she said, squeezing down around him and hitching her hips to move along his shaft.

“If that’s what you want,” Bucky said, pulling easily on her hips and rising up to thrust into her. She cried out at it, and Clint held her steady so Bucky could fuck her. It was so easy, like that, to get the angle, and she didn’t have to tense up any muscles to hold position, so she could take him harder and deeper, and so it took almost no time for her to tip right back over the edge and come again, shuddering, Clint’s fingers pressing deftly against her and his arms wrapped around her, his mouth under her ear, shuddering, Bucky’s cock thick and hot and his body powerful between her thighs, moving smoothly, strong hands at her hips, strong body at her back.

“Fuck,” Clint said, “are you still coming?” and answered his own question, pressing down again, and the wave broke over her again and she moaned, tipping her head back, all her nerves whiting out to blissful static. There was nothing there, no worries or cares or sorrows, no tension or restraint, no need even for concern over anyone else’s pleasure— just pure, blank ecstasy, and she gave herself over to it completely until it ran its course and she sucked in a more normal breath and blinked.

Bucky had sat up as he’d gotten close, to get even deeper in her, and he’d definitely gotten off somewhere in there. Now Clint had his arms around both of them and was making out with Bucky, who was trembling against Natasha’s chest, heart beating hard as he breathed deep, Clint’s hands tangled in his hair and holding his jaw firm.

“That was really good,” Natasha said unsteadily. “That was— that was really fuckin’ good.”

“Mmhm,” Bucky said weakly, metal arm hot against her side as he slid his hand up Clint’s back. He shuddered on an aftershock, and it pulsed through her too and she moaned.

“You’re not done,” she said, coming back a bit to awareness. She put her hands in Bucky’s hair, untangling some of what Clint had been doing.  
Bucky made a little whimpering noise, and she could feel his pulse in his dick inside her. He wasn’t really getting any softer, though she’d loosened up and everything was really slippery now. She was done, she thought; it felt nice to have him inside her but it wasn’t any more than that. She wasn’t going to get off again. Not from this, anyway.

“Are you done?” Clint asked, perceptive.

Her first attempt at speaking came out as a soft unformed moan as Bucky moved inside her, and she shivered pleasantly, and kissed Bucky, who tasted a bit like Clint still. “Maybe,” she said finally, catching her breath and resting her cheek against his. “Ohh— maybe that was enough for me.”

“Good thing I’m ready to go again, then,” Clint said, audibly grinning, and from the way Bucky’s head moved she could tell they were making out again. She got herself together, and okay it was a little uncomfortable now; Bucky was definitely all the way hard again inside her and she was all set, her organs would like to go back to their normal positions now.

“Baby,” she said, tugging on Bucky’s hair, “I need you to get out of me.”

He laughed, releasing Clint’s mouth, and sat back, letting go of her. She shuddered as she got up to her knees and he slipped out, but Clint caught her and eased her down onto the bed, kissing her neck and breasts.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Bucky asked, leaning over to kiss the other side of her neck.

“No,” she said, and caressed the back of his neck, petted his hair— his hair was so soft, it always was— “no, baby, I was just done, that’s all.”

“Good,” he said, and Clint grabbed him by the back of his neck, and they were making out over her now. They were both so unreasonably attractive. She admired them, and Bucky reached over and closed his hand around Clint’s dick and they both seemed into that.

She wriggled down to steal all the blankets and sit against the head of the bed, watching. Bucky generally was happiest when getting his partners off, occupying a more active role, but after he’d come once or twice he got a lot needier. “I think Bucky needs you to fuck him,” she suggested. Clint hadn’t seemed not into it, but Bucky wasn’t likely to have the self-possession necessary at this point to make Clint’s first time work out all that well. Or, well, he’d do it, but he’d be so anxious about it he wouldn’t get himself off. And she wanted to see Bucky get off; she’d been too distracted to notice just now.

“You think?” Clint said breathlessly. Bucky stared dazedly at him. Yeah, she was right.

“I think,” Natasha said. “What do you think, James?”

“I want that,” Bucky said, and he wasn’t super coherent. He was dissolving, self-control mostly taken apart, and she pulled him down to her to pet him and kiss him. She could do this, she wanted to do this.

“Let me help,” she said, and found the lube. She lay on one side of him and Clint half-lay partly on top of him, caressing his body and kissing various parts of him.

“I can’t stop touching you, you’re beautiful,” Clint said, which was about the sweetest thing he’d ever managed, in bed or out of it.

Bucky curled his shoulders up a little, tucking his head against Natasha’s chest as she warmed up the lube in her hand. She stroked his dick with it first, easing into things, and he shivered and tipped his head back, and Clint delightedly bit his neck.

“It’s okay,” Natasha said. “It’s okay to want this. I’m here, baby. It won’t be too much. Nobody’s gonna hurt you and you’re not gonna hurt anybody.”

Bucky arched up into her touch, face pressed to her shoulder; she could see, though, that his other hand was around the back of Clint’s neck, and he was encouraging him with the kissing and the biting. She slid her fingers down and pushed one straight into him, and he cried out and pushed down against her hand, undulating happily. “Yeah,” he managed to say, and it was a good sign that he could manage words.

Still, he was going to fall apart after this. She was definitely going to have to stay with them. Clint was good at wordless stuff for a little bit but he had a talent for putting his foot in things, and it wouldn’t do to have this go sour after how lovely it had been thus far.

“Can I,” Clint said, watching what Natasha was doing. She looked at him, and he understood the gesture she made with her head. He pushed a finger into Bucky alongside hers, and Bucky made an unambiguous moaning noise.

“Good,” Natasha said to Bucky, kissing his temple, “God, you’re so good.”

Clint took over from her, stroking Bucky’s cock with his other hand. “So hot,” he said. “Jesus you’re hot.”

She could see from the tension in Bucky’s jaw that he wanted to say something. She kissed his cheekbone. “You want more?”

He nodded, and gave up on speech with a grateful look at her that disappeared as his eyes rolled back when she pulled her finger out and Clint put a second one in instead. He groaned, and she wiped her hand off and went back to petting him. “That’s my good boy,” she said. “That’s my good boy. Are you gonna get off for Clint?”

Bucky nodded, and opened his eyes and looked up at Clint. “Yeah,” he managed to say.

“Shit,” Clint said, “I’m gonna do it to you so good, I promise,” and it was so sincere, Natasha exchanged a look with Bucky, who grinned.

“Good,” he said. “That’s what I want.”

“You want it now?” Clint asked. He wasn’t being stingy with the lube. Well, it wasn’t his first rodeo. Just, first of this particular… the metaphor wasn’t worth figuring out. Natasha kissed Bucky and petted his hair.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, wriggling a little, “I do.”

“Well,” Clint said, “I am going to use a condom, but once I sort that out—“

“Here,” Natasha said, and retrieved one, and because she was nice and also because she wanted to watch this, she even put it on for him.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, which wasn’t at all what he was trying to communicate, but Natasha got it— he was supportive of this decision and of her involvement. She smiled at him.

And then Clint was pushing into him, big hands gentle and powerful body careful and restrained, and Bucky groaned and swore and bent his gorgeous arms up to push himself against the headboard, to shove himself down to Clint.

“So pretty,” Natasha said, delighted, and reached down to stroke Bucky’s cock. His face had already gone distant and vague, nearly cross-eyed, and it was fucking gorgeous to watch.

“Holy shit,” Clint said, “holy— yes—“ and he was trembling with the effort of holding still.

“It’s good,” Bucky managed, though his mouth clearly wasn’t working properly, “fuck, it’s good, fuck me,” and that was enough for Clint to start out pretty carefully.

Bucky didn’t generally get fucked very often, but he took it often enough to know how he liked it. He planted his feet on the mattress and shoved his body up to meet Clint’s, and Natasha watched in admiration as all the muscles of his torso worked as he got himself into the right angle.

“There it is,” she said, satisfied, as Bucky’s body jerked.

“Fuck,” Bucky said, sounding dazed, “fuck, yes, fuck— fuck me—“

“Okay,” Clint said, and obliged him, like the agreeable guy he generally was.

Natasha was very, very pleased by her choice of where she’d put her hand, because then she could feel his pulse kick up, could feel him start to come apart. “My darling,” she murmured to Bucky in Russian, “you’re so good, look at you, look how well you take it, I am so happy to see you like this.”

“Oh God,” Bucky said, nearly sobbing, “oh— God— oh fuck—“ He was close, face blank and distant, spine arching, cock unbelievably hard in her hand, and she twisted her wrist on the upstroke and kissed his jaw and watched Clint’s half-stunned expression as he watched Bucky start to shake apart.

“So good,” she crooned, “so good.”

Bucky cried out desperately and came, cock pulsing in her hand as his body jerked and shuddered. It wasn’t as messy as she’d expected but then, he’d just come inside her, only a few moments before, so that shouldn’t be a surprise. His whole body shook violently, lungs emptying and filling, spine snapping stiff and going limp, and Clint held him by the waist, biting his lips, driving hard into him.

“Holy shit,” Clint said, “holy shit,” and twisted his face up— he was close, really close— “holy— fuckin’— shit, man,” and he came too, hard enough to shove Bucky up toward the headboard, but Bucky was well-braced and took it like, well— took it like a man who got into it pretty regularly with Steve Rogers and thus was pretty prepared for getting slammed into things. Steve was really careful with his super-strength until he wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Bucky gasped, panting, “yeah, fuck, yeah,” and when Clint was done shoving into him he brought an arm down and wrapped it around Clint’s back and pulled him down to kiss him.

Clint’s body was still moving, but as Bucky kissed him he slowly shivered to a stop, and Natasha left her hand where it was, sandwiched between their two bellies, feeling their blood moving hot under their skin as Clint slowly collapsed down onto Bucky’s body. He turned his head and kissed her, too, and Bucky tucked his face in under her neck.

“Good boys,” she murmured, amused and touched at how needy both of them were being. She freed her hand and petted Clint’s shoulders. “Don’t lose the condom.”

Clint made a put-upon grunting noise and fidgeted, and Bucky made a low fervent noise that Natasha figured probably meant Clint had pulled out. In a moment, the condom hit the trash can with excellent accuracy, though Clint hadn’t turned his head.

“Okay,” she said, and pulled the blankets up to cover both of them; neither of them had much of a body fat percentage and they both lost heat terribly, so even if they were still breathing hard, they were bound to get cold.

“That was crazy,” Clint said, finally rolling off of Bucky. Bucky tucked himself up against Natasha, gone wordless and blank-eyed, and she pulled him close like she knew he needed.

“That was awesome,” she said, and flapped a hand at Clint, who was hovering on the edge between getting manic and passing out. He considered her, then came over, shedding one hearing aid, and fitted himself into the narrow space left behind Bucky. Bucky sighed against Natasha’s neck, and she wrapped the blankets better to include Clint.

Clint mushed his face into the back of Bucky’s shoulder and fell fast asleep in short order. Natasha listened to Bucky’s shallow breathing, petting his hair and his back where she could reach it. He was awake for a long time, motionless except to occasionally nuzzle himself in even closer against the crook of her shoulder. She murmured reassurances to him in English and Russian, working her fingers down through his hair to his scalp until the muscles loosened. Eventually, his breathing evened out.

She was sleepy, but she had to retrieve her phone. She managed it without disturbing Bucky’s breathing or Clint’s, well, almost-snoring.

Sam had texted back, so long ago, “No deal, lady. It’s plenty boon enough on its own. But I’ll definitely pay you back for pictures in pancakes.”

She considered it, then held her arm up and snapped an arm’s-length selfie that showed the edge of her face, Bucky’s hair, and Clint’s mushed face. She sent it, and then sent another message, and only when she got a reply in the affirmative did she fall asleep, secure in knowing that the building was being watched over in case Clint’s enemies got over Bucky’s rampage too quickly.

They could sort that out later. In the meantime, two of her boys were safe in bed with her, depending on her.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like, please [reblog](http://bomberqueen17.tumblr.com/post/130398184804/inspired-by-this-post-over-a-year-later-im), or at least [come say hi on Tumblr](http://bomberqueen17.tumblr.com/)! :)  
> *****  
> Updated to add: someone commented wishing I'd write the implied scenes where Natasha and Bucky are banging Steve and Sam too, and it occurs to me to mention that actually, I have written many of those. So if you find your curiosity piqued, or whatever you want to call it, I'm going to shamelessly self-rec here, because my shit is Byzantine and epic and you really don't have to read all of it to enjoy the porn, I actually work pretty hard on keeping it comprehensible even as the cast of characters gets out of hand.   
> [Straight To The Hard Stuff](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4247823) and its sequel [Perfectly Adequate](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4432433) deal with the OT4, Bucky/Steve/Sam/Natasha; the first one is poly negotiations and the second is mostly Natasha pegging the everloving fuck out of Steve.   
> I have a couple less-explicit ones I wrote early on, including my very first foray into Stucky, featuring Brooklyn-era Bucky, Skinny Steve, and a bully: [Nobody's Business But Yours](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1895616); [Dumb Questions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2678135) is just Stucky but it's pretty damn explicit and the others are mentioned.   
> I think that's it? My shit is out of hand, guys, sorry. 
> 
> *****  
> I'll admit, this eventually got finished because an excerpt of another work I'd posted on Tumblr hashtagged #deaf Clint Barton kept getting likes and reblogs almost a year later. I figured, you know what, that's important to people, it's getting included. (Although I myself am a hearing person, so I may have gotten things wrong! Please do feel free to suggest how that could be improved, but also keep in mind I'm working with comic-book-realism here, so the mechanics of how well hearing aids react to water may be only Tony Stark realistic.)
> 
> Let that be a lesson to you. If something is important to you, promote it when you see it. (Says the worst commenter ever, who tends to just leave fics she loves open in a tab somewhere and then forget to ever rec or review.)


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